


Ornaments & Carols

by KylaraIngress



Series: Traditions, Old & New [2]
Category: Quantum Leap
Genre: Holidays, M/M, POV First Person, leap home AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 15:24:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2855738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KylaraIngress/pseuds/KylaraIngress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam decorates the Christmas tree at Al's house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ornaments & Carols

**Author's Note:**

> written in December 2001 (finished January 2, 2002) and put up as part of Throwback Thursdays.

**December 15**

I sat back, looking at the boxes that lay strewn across Al's living room floor. I gave a sigh, not knowing where to start. When Al insisted I put up my Christmas decorations in his house, I wasn't quite sure where he was coming from. Yeah, I was still staying with him because I wasn't ready to try living on my own, but after that brief kiss over the menorah, our relationship had changed in such a way that me staying here was looking more like a possible permanent arrangement. Al hadn't suggested anything one way or the other, and I was a little unsure myself where he stood. I mean, this WAS Al we were talking about – in any timeline, the ultimate commitment-phobe.

But, he had said, while I stayed here, I could make it as much like home as possible, which included the decorations that I now stared at. I sighed again, knowing that tradition dictated I started with the imitation tree I had bought when I first moved out on my own. Somehow, the pieces of plastic had survived several dorm rooms, a few apartments, and my place in New Mexico before leaping had made it prudent for Al to sublet it out (in this bachelor timeline, that is). As I opened the box, I was amazed that it still looked fairly new. I turned back to the stereo, putting in on of the compilation tapes I had made years ago of all my favorite stuff off my mom's Christmas albums (with later tapes made as the years had progressed). I only listened to them once a year – when I was putting up the tree. Then, I was happy to not hear another Christmas song for the rest of the season (outside of the various caroling parties I typically got invited to because of my voice).

As the sounds of Bing wishing for a white Christmas filled the air, I turned back to the boxes and dragged over the one marked 'lights & ornaments'. And I started putting up the branches of the tree, stringing them with lights as I went.

"Hey, Sam," I heard as I started on the second tier. "Puttin' up the tree, huh?"

"Al," I said, giving him a nod in lieu of the hug (and kiss) I wanted. But when you're flat on your back, one hand inserting a tree branch and the other holding a strand of lights, you don't exactly have a lot of free range with regards to movement. By now, we were hearing Nat singing about Yuletide carols being sung by a choir, and so I was quick to add, "Hope the music doesn't get to ya – I promise it's the only time you'll hear it this year."

"Nah," he said, and I could see him head into the kitchen with a couple of bags of groceries. "Despite my givin' ya such grief for likin' this kinda stuff, it makes it more seasonal."

"So, what's for dinner?" I asked, schootching up against the wall to start on the third tier.

"You," Al said, poking his head around the door so I could see the obvious leer. I blushed deeply, still not quite used to this aspect of our relationship. Believe it or not, we had just stopped at the kisses the other day, both of us respecting each other enough to want to make sure we were both certain of each step as we took it. And in a way, that should've been proof of Al's commitment to me – the day you can get Al Calavicci to take his time with regards to sex is the day he SHOULD be committed.

"Al," I said, knowing he had said it just to get a rise out of me (and he did, in more ways than one).

"Stew," he returned. "An old favorite of my dad's." And before I had a chance to retaliate, he had vanished once again into the kitchen.

That surprised me; in all the times he had cooked for us, he had never made anything from his immediate family. There were dishes from an uncle here and there, a grandma or two, and then the plethora of recipes from Ruthie, but that was it. As Danny Kaye started singing about the first Noel, I thought about what that could possibly signify, if anything.

I shook my head, deciding I was reading way too much into things, and continued my work on the tree. A couple songs later, the smell of cooking started wafting into the room as I finished up the branches and lights. I stood back as the Mormon Tabernacle Choir started singing, rather appropriately, "O Tannenbaum".

"It's startin' to simmer," Al said, walking back in. "It should be ready in about an hour."

"Just in time," I smiled, and turned to him. Giving him a shy peck on the cheek, I asked, "You wanna do the honors?" handing him the plug to the lights.

He looked a little shocked, and I figured he was also adjusting to this whole romance of ours. "Uh, don't you wanna do it?" he asked, holding the wire like it was live.

"I had too much fun stringing them up," I grinned. "You get to see what it looks like."

With another hesitant look at me, he leaned over and pushed the plug in, alighting the tree with all the colors of the rainbow. I looked at the tree, and even now – without ornaments – it was beautiful.

"So, what now?" Al asked me, and I turned to him in shock. He was acting like he had never put up a tree before.

"The ornaments," I said. Walking over to the open container, I pulled out a shoebox. As I sat down in the chair for my usual inspection of the treasures within, I couldn't help but sing along with the Brothers Four, "Go tell it on the mountain." I lifted out a tissue-wrapped ornament, and gave a giggle as I realized which one it was. "This was one of the first ornaments I ever made," I sighed, showing Al the clothespin reindeer. "Boy Scouts," I continued, handing it over for his perusal.

"Wow," he whistled appropriately. "Forget physics, kid; you should've done this for a living." I gave a chuckle at his assessment, however biased it was, showing him the date on the bottom, 1960.

"Not bad for an eight year old, huh?" I laughed. "Wanna put it on the tree for me?"

"Huh?" he asked, shocked again. "Uh . . . where do you want it?"

"Wherever you think it fits," I said with a shrug. "There's no real science to decorating a tree," I continued, wondering how much of his asking was for my benefit, not wanting to overstep his bounds. "My mom had always insisted on putting the bigger items on the lower branches, but there's no real hard and fast rule about it. I always considered it an art form – whatever looks good."

"Okay," he said, standing hesitantly and heading over to the tree. He perused the tree, and quickly hung it about mid-way. By the time he had come back, I had unwrapped another one – one of the later ones my mom had bought me. Even when I was working on my third doctorate, she always sent me a new ornament every year. She had always said that it was the best way to remember Christmases past.

He looked over the little star, and noticed the '83 painted on the side. "StarBright?" he guessed.

"Mom thought it was funny," I shrugged. At one time, that star had symbolized the year Donna left me at the altar; another timeline, it was the year we got married. Now, it just represented my first year at the project . . . and, I realized, the year I met Al – the best one of all.

"What?" he asked, seeing my smile of remembrance.

"The year I met you," I couldn't help but say aloud, and pulled him down for a kiss.

He broke it first (as usual), and pulled away. "Gotta go check on that stew," he gave as his excuse, and ran away to the kitchen. I sighed, and stood with the star and another ornament from the box, placing them on the tree.

I didn't say anything as he came back and seated himself on the couch, content to watch me continue hanging up ornaments. I couldn't help the occasional reminisces the ornaments would bring, and felt obligated to explain others as I saw the looks from my partner as I pulled out some of the oddest things.

As I pulled out the small wooden manger scene, I couldn't help but giggle as I realized Julie Andrews was singing, "Away in a Manger". I turned to Al, showing it to him. As he saw the '53 carved in the bottom, he questioned me with his eyes.

"My grandmother," I started, "on my mom's side, gave each grandchild a manger ornament the year they were born. I guess that's what started the whole thing."

The song ended, and I quickly hung the ornament, knowing by heart what song was next. I knew I had to sing with it, but wasn't sure if I would be able to without tears. And Frank Sinatra started singing:

_"I'll be home for Christmas,_  
 _You can count on me._  
 _Please have snow and mistletoe,  
_ _And presents on the tree._

_Christmas Eve will find me_  
 _Where the love light gleams_  
 _I'll be home for Christmas,  
_ _If only in my dreams."_

As the instrumental solo started, I felt Al come up behind me, bringing his arms around my middle. I could feel him nuzzling my neck, and I closed my eyes tight against the tears, making the Christmas lights into painful prisms of color. I patted his arm, not trusting my voice yet.

"It's not a dream," Al whispered behind me. "Or if it is, I'm dreamin' it, too."

That just made me shake even worse, realizing that this was the first real Christmas I was able to celebrate in five years.

"Shhh," he hushed my sobs, rubbing my chest in consolation. "That's okay, kid. Let it out." I just cried even harder, knowing how much more special this Christmas was going to be, not only because I was home, but also because of Al being a part of it.

The song ended, and I was able to regain control of myself. I sniffed a few times, then broke away before he had a chance to escape like always. "Sorry, Al," I said, turning around to face him. "I know how much you hate mush." And stopped any further apologies as I saw a single tear streaking down his cheek as well.

"It's good to have you home for Christmas," he said quietly, not quite meeting my eyes. I brought his chin up so he was, and he blinked away another tear. "This whole thing is new to me, too."

"It is?" I asked, it suddenly dawning on me why he was acting so weird with the tree. Of course he wouldn't have any kind of traditions like that – his family hadn't exactly been stable when he was little, then . . . .

"Beth wasn't really into the whole Christmas thing," he answered my silent conversation. "She felt it wasn't worth it when it was just the two of us. And Ruthie . . ." he trailed off, and motioned to the menorah.

"Oh, Al," I said, and brought him into a hug. "You're always welcome to share in my traditions," I continued. And I smiled, as I realized actions spoke louder than words. I broke away quickly, giving him a smile in apology, and said, "Don't go anywhere. I have something for you."

I ran into the spare bedroom I was staying in, and grabbed the package I had made for one of his Christmas presents. Forget waiting – it was much more important to give it to him now.

Back out to the living room, I couldn't help but notice that he seemed more composed, though thoroughly confused as to what I was doing. Handing him over the box, I said, "Sorry it's not wrapped – but I wanted to give you something."

He opened up the small container . . . and started chuckling. "What is this?" he asked, picking up the miniature handlink that lay there.

"It's your ornament for the year," I explained, showing where the hook went and where I had painted on the year. "I try and get one every Christmas," I started to explain, "and wanted to give you one as well."

"Aw, Sam," he said, giving me that look, the look that said he wasn't quite sure how to handle the mushiness. "I . . . I don't know what to say."

"You could say you like it," I joked as Doris Day sang about silver bells. "You should see the one I made for me to remember this year."

As he looked at me in question, I handed over the piece of tatted lace that I had commissioned – in the shape of a Möbius strip. He looked at it, and I could see the wheels turning. "Leaping?" he asked.

"That's why there's no date – I won't need a reminder of when I got that one," I explained.

"Yeah," he sighed, looking at it carefully. "Where did you get this? You don't do this."

"Would you believe that Bena likes to tat?" I asked. At his surprised look, I added, "Apparently, it helps with her stress. She's got a whole slew of sweaters she's knitted as well, while I was leaping." I gave a grin, knowing he'd take it for the joke it was, and added, "She told me to tell you that a good three or four are specifically due to you."

"Funny," he said, and looked back down at the handlink. "I . . . I don't know what to say, kid. This . . . this means a lot." He looked away for a moment, then said, "I know what – I've got something for you, too." He walked into the kitchen, and I wondered if it related to the stew somehow.

He walked out, his hands behind his back. "Now, I didn't even have time to find a box, so you're gonna have to close your eyes and hold out your hands."

I did as requested, and waited in curiosity as I heard him finish walking up to me. He carefully pulled my hands away from each other, and grabbed my left gently. I could feel him place something cool and metallic on my palm, folding over my fingers to grasp it. As I tried to figure out the shape of the item, I was startled by a quick kiss, too sweet to describe. My eyes fluttered open, and I looked down – at the key to the house.

"Al?" I asked carefully, not wanting to read too much into it.

"Giving over the key is usually tradition when two people live together, right?" he asked with a grin, trying to not show how deeply moved he truly was.

"Are you sure?"

"If there's one thing I learned over the past five years, Sam, it's how much you really mean to me." He squeezed my hand tightly, and finally admitted, "Make this year's Christmas mean more than just you leaping home, okay?"

"Okay," I agreed, and leaned in for another kiss. Now, if only there was some mistletoe handy, I would have a traditional excuse to keep kissing him tonight.

 


End file.
